


Make Him Pay

by madeofheart (nerdofthenile)



Series: Oppositestuck [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Amputation, Black Romance, Blood, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Charms, Crushes, Eye Gouging, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Gore, Language, M/M, Mind Control, Oppositestuck, Some lovely tags today huh?, Voodoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 01:46:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11026038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdofthenile/pseuds/madeofheart
Summary: The story of a vengeful witch doctor, an insane highblood, and a rebel with his own rules.Let's hope they all don't destroy each other in the end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. Here we go. 
> 
> Make Her Pay was one of my favorite flash animations of Homesick when I first read it, so I was excited to get to play around with the Oppositestuck version a bit and see what I could make happen. And this surfaced. I hope it's up to standard!
> 
> This will come in basically two main chapters and one just for the suspense of it. 
> 
> Please pay attention to the tags, as some of the stuff isn't fun.

CT: D→ Do you remember when I went deaf

 

Its one of the most random messages you’ve ever gotten. But then again, his entire existence is pretty uncalled for. So. 

 

AT: bE MORE SPECIFIC. 

CT: D→ I don’t know how much more specific I can be, asshole

CT: D→ Do you remember when I went deaf

 

You do, actually. You remember that entire night very well. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To find him without any resistance against you means he’s planning something. And he’s counting on you to not control him through it. 
> 
> Oh, this was going to be deliciously fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the tags!

The night is quiet, and you are looking through your window at an approaching storm. Rain hits the window pane, plinking against it. Plip. Plip. Plip. 

 

Your name is TAVROS NITRAM, and at this point, you are going to kill the rain so it stops with the infernal “plip”s. Most trolls would say “you can’t kill rain!”, but they wouldn’t know you. You’re freaking TAVROS NITRAM, you’ll state it a million times, and you can do whatever the hell you want to. You’ll find a way. 

 

Echoing footsteps interrupt the raindrops and the silence. The footfall is slow. Taking its time. Showing off his long stride because he’s so tall. Stalking the hallways like he owns the place. The footsteps get louder and louder until they stop in front of your doorway

 

Oh, you know who it is. It’s not like he’s subtle.

 

“Didn’t your lusus tell you that breaking and entering was bad?” You say into your not-so-empty-anymore respiteblock. “Seriously, Makara, I thought you were known for your manners?”

 

Gamzee says nothing. He stands at the doorway, looking down your back, probably. 

 

You roll your eyes. “You gonna come in, or stand there and try to look pretty?”

 

Still no answer. 

 

Hm. He’d usually give you a retort by now. Or criticize how well of a host you are. Or give you a caste slur. He loved those more than you. Liked to poke at how much “a highblood of your stature wouldn’t stoop so low” to whatever you were doing.  

 

“Someone is talkative today,” you muse, tapping your claws on the window sill. They make a thrap thrap sound to combine with the plips of the rain. The sounds don’t mingle all too well. It sounds like they’re fighting. 

 

“What brings you round my little humble abode, hm?” you ask Gamzee, who still hasn’t moved, if the lack of footsteps tells you anything. “Has someone finally made a move and destroyed your hive, and you’re coming here out of desperation? Are you on the verge of death and are coming here to make your last words known? C’mon, Makara, spill for me.”

 

Nothing. 

 

You hum, closing your eyes. Focusing. You power stretches out behind your eyes. It leaks around the room, travelling, following your command, until it finds Gamzee. You slowly but surely creep up his body, letting your mind control seek out his think pan. He uses charms, little perks of his illegal religion, to ward off other powers. So you’d have to get around the charms if you wanted to--

 

You found no restraints on his pan. You could get in and get out as easily as you could to Vriska. And she was an easy job. 

 

You call back your manipulation, returning it back to the recesses of your own think pan. Something isn’t right. Something is up. Gamzee knows you, you know Gamzee. He knows you would and could control him to do whatever you wanted. You had that power, thanks to you fourfold eye. You know he has the power to protect himself from you, at least for a prolonged period of time, and even if-- _ when _ you do break through his defenses, he struggles against you. 

 

It’s been that way forever. 

 

It’s a dangerous game the two of you play, one that battles more with the mind than it does with punches and kicks. A battle of wits, maybe. To outsmart the other. You know everything, you know all your friend’s weaknesses and strengths, which lusii they have, the strategies the Alternian fleets use most, how His Imperial Hauteur conquers the planets he conquers. You know it all. But Gamzee is just as smart. He has the uncanny talent to predict what will happen, seeing the next move before it happens. You think knowing everything that will take place has made him bored or something, because he has lost the sparkle in his eyes that most trolls your age still have. The sparkle of curiosity and wonder. It makes him look dead. 

 

You have found yourself wanting to see if his lips are cold like a corpse’s. Or shreddable. Shredded by your teeth, specifically. By your lips. On his mouth. 

 

To find him without any resistance against you means he’s planning something. And he’s counting on you to not control him through it. 

 

Oh, this was going to be deliciously fun. 

 

“Did you leave your murky little bog today forgetting something?” You cock your head, still looking out the window. “Because that’s a whole lot of empty think pan and not a whole lot of protection charms.”

 

You turn your head just barely, so you know he can see your eyes, but you can’t see him. “What game are you playing at today?”

 

Finally, he begins to move. Soft, slow footsteps. Evenly paced, timed out. Seven seconds between each step. Because he’s so calculated. 

 

You can’t help but hold back a chuckle. “I thought you had finally died for a second there, glad your legs still work. Be a shame for the one thing to bring you down to be the uselessness of your limbs.”

 

“Uselessness. Of limbs.” He repeats after you, the very first words he says. 

 

His tone is different than how he’s spoken to you before. Usually, his voice wavers, a splash of sass thrown in there, because he knows it ticks you off if he’s even slightly sarcastic. But right now? Each word is chipped from ice. He sounds more lifeless than he’s ever been, his drawling accent curt and short, his sentences small. What's he playing at?

 

“You heard me,” you say, “uselessness of limbs.”

 

Silence.

 

Then you feel his hands. One latched onto your rib cage area, the other smoothing over your neck. His fingers tap at your skin, like he's thinking. 

 

This turned very caliginous very quickly. You don't mind.

 

You feel his breath by your ear, little puffs of cold air. His hair tickles the parts of your scalp where you shaved off the hair to make your mohawk (which is an awesome mohawk by all standards). His cheek touches yours as he gets closer. There is no sound between either of you, just his breath and yours, his hand now on your shoulder fiddling with the fabric of your shirt, and his other hand trailing down to your stomach, claws dangerously pointed downwards. One wrong move and he'd impale you. 

 

This was very pitch, and you couldn't find a thing wrong with it.

 

“Uselessness of limbs,” Gamzee says again, words hitting your aural clot like sweet dissonant notes, “would something like that get you culled?”

 

“Duh,” you breath out as the hand in your shoulder skids along your skin and travels down your arm. “Did you not know that?”

 

“Oh, I know that,” he answered, hand on your stomach coming up to splay on your sternum. “I know that very well.”

 

Again, silence.

 

“Vriska is alive,” Gamzee says.

 

What?

 

“Vriska?” You ask, then laugh a bit. “Very funny. There is no way--”

 

“You underestimate Terezi’s speed and Eridan’s doctorturor techniques. She is indeed alive.” Gamzee rests his head on on of your horns. He's tall enough for that. The hand on your arm has come back to your neck, and there's a thrill in the gentle prick of the points of his claws as they scrape the skin there. He could claw you at any second. His other hand remains on your chest, completely still, dead near your beating pusher.

 

“Hm,” you think aloud, “well, in that case, I'm not  _ too  _ surprised. She wouldn't have lived if they hadn't had to--”

 

“Do you,” Gamzee interrupted, making your breath totally not hitch at the tightening of his fingers on your airway tube, “plead guilty to being the one to walk her off that cliff?”

 

Oh. Oh,  _ this  _ is why he's here.

 

You choke out a laugh at his ignorance. He was so stupid sometimes, it was funny. Hysterical, almost. Why did lowbloods always never think things through? They had less logic in them then an oinkbeast did in a field of mud.

 

“ _ Plead  _ guilty?” You say, leaning yourself back into him so his claws start to dig into your neck and your back is to his chest, “Makara, I  _ am  _ guilty. I'm guilted than you’ll ever be! The guiltiest of guilts. I own everything that has to do with Serket, and I'll own it until she's dead and gone, and then some.” You chuckle through another breath. “She owes her life to me, and even I know I can't grubsit her sorry excuse forever. She would've been culled by the drones in a few sweeps anyway! I tried to give her an  _ easy out. _ But you all just love to see her suffer, I guess.”

 

“She will suffer even more, after what you've put her through,” Gamzee says, the hand on your chest roaming again to the middle of your torso. “Her life will never be the same.”

 

“She should have died, then,” you retort, “would have caused us all a lot less trouble.”

 

You can practically hear him thinking. The claws on your neck skitter up your face until they are tapping along your jawline, making up a random rhythm that you know could jab through and draw your blood if Gamzee wanted to. But he wouldn't. You know him.

 

“You're scared.”

 

“I'm not scared,” you tell him, “I don't even know what that word--”

 

“You're scared of pitying her,” Gamzee bites out, “you're scared of loving someone you think would make you weak.”

 

Laughter breaks from your lips. You raise your arms and loop them behind you, finding his horns and yanking his head over your horns, tilting your own head up, angling his. It's the first time in this whole visit that you've seen his face, and you're reminded of why you hate him and want to kiss him at the same time. He's always elegantly deadly, a crystal pistol, a bomb waiting to blow up a million fire sticks and light them all aflame. No lowblood should look so perfect. You're perfect. No one else could be this perfect. You want to mar him until he's begging for mercy, and then kiss him silly.

 

“I'm never afraid,” you say, looking straight into his eyes, “I am  _ fearless,  _ I am  _ strong,  _ and four times better than anyone could ever be. I'm not afraid of some stupid quadrant--”

 

“You haven't denied that you pity her.” Gamzee looks right through you and into your soul.

 

Shoot.

 

“I--” you start, but Gamzee uses the hand on your jaw to maneuver your head back to facing the window, shaking your hands from his horns. You would have put them right back up there, if you hadn't realized where his hands had travelled.

 

The hand on your jawline was now over your fourfold eye, your special eye, his index claw pointed directly at the inside edge of it.

 

The other went around to your back, and before even you in all your amazingness could process it, he had pushed you against the glass frame of the window, it's pans creaking with the force, and you can't help but grunt at the impact. You think you hear Gamzee chuckle a bit at that. Bastard.

 

You begin to push yourself from the window before you realize you can't move. Nothing responds to you. Your arms, your legs, they don't move when you want them to.

 

What kind of….

 

“Scary, when the tables turn, hm?” Gamzee muses. “All I needed was for you to try to get into my pan first, and wouldya look at that, you complied. Just as you always do. Trying for things you will never have.” The hand on your back goes down your hip to your leg, takes it by the knee and brings it back. “This special little charm I conjured up doesn't protect me, oh no. Just redirects power, is all. So once I could feel your power, and once you agreed to play my little game like I thought you would, I crept my voodoo into your cute little think pan without you even sparing it a glance.” He sounds so smug, you want to slap him so badly.

 

“ _ Get the f-- _ ”

 

“Here's your options,” he says before you can get the words out. “I can make this either super fast, or super slow. Which would you like?”

 

You laugh again, this time it's a little muffled against the glass. He didn't realize that you were still playing a game. A game he didn't see just yet.

 

You weren't above losing the first round of this, though. You'd indulge your little pitch crush. Just this once. But you'd make it uncomfortable for him, only because you care.

 

“Slow,” you answer, feeling the muscles beneath his hands twitch, “slow and as  _ agonizing  _ as you can. Take your time, Makara.” You grin, showing all your perfectly sharp teeth. “Make me scream. I dare you.”

 

You can feel his eyes boring through you, and everything is silent as the moment drags on.

 

Then his claw starts digging into your fourfold eye. Hard.

 

You can't help but hiss at the sting, and you can already feel the trickle of blood began trailing down your cheek. The deeper his claw goes, the worse the burn gets, until it feels like there fire on your eye. You don't know if you’re screaming or not, but you do know that there is blood splattering across your face now, and you bet you look stunning in bronze.

 

His claw starts to move, rolling your precious fourfold eye from its socket. The pain is equivalent to a million needles in your body at the same time. It's excruciating, and blood has trickled down to you mouth. Your tongue darts out to swipe it off your face, a tangy metal flavor invading your tastebuds.

 

Your blood tastes awesome. Maybe you just leak awesome everywhere and your blood is only a carrying vessel.

 

The pain resounds across the left side of your face, screaming out as nerves are shredded by Gamzee’s claw, your eye almost halfway out by now. Air is hitting exposed flesh and veins that you didn't even know you had. You feel coated in your color as he works.

 

And finally, finally, after what feels like an eternity of fiery burning sensations and sharp pain beyond anything you've ever physically experienced, you hear a squelchy  _ pop _ from what seems like miles away. You realize it's your eye. Gamzee had gouged out your fourfold eye.

 

You hear it drop to the floor.

 

You gasp out hoarse laughs, blood now coming from your mouth as well as the now empty socket of your eye. “Having fun?” You ask, “you're  _ weak,  _ what even was that? Is that all you have? C’mon, Makara, make this more exciting for me, show me what you  _ are.” _

 

He says nothing. 

 

You can barely notice, through the remaining pain of your eye, the harsh grip his other hand has on your left leg. His claws start it dig in around that area too. You move your head so that your forehead is pressed against the cool of the window. Your head seems to be the only thing you can move.

 

“I don't think I seem you worthy of a warning,” Gamzee says, “so I won't tell you when I'm going to start up again. You’ll just have to wait. Poor thing. Oh, and don't worry, eye gouging doesn't cause enough blood loss in a troll to make them faint. You'll be wide awake for this next part.”

 

You hate him. No,  _ loathe  _ him. You don't give him the satisfaction of an answer.

 

It's another minute before he begins again. Claws go straight through the skin of your knee, drawing blood and shredding through the fabric of your jeans (hey, those were  _ designer) _ . You think you can hear yourself cry out, and you inwardly curse yourself for even showing him how much pain you were in. You bite down on your lip, more blood mixing with the supply already there.

 

He starts to clench down on the bone of your knee, hand crunching your kneecap and claws tearing through the ligaments and tendons. How was he so strong? No one, lowblood or otherwise, should be so strong. Except you, of course. And him.

 

Pain becomes a constant in that time, but this time the fire of pain shoots up your thigh and to your muddled pan. You can feel your vocal pipe turn to rough woodpaper as he continues to wrench your calf away from the rest of your leg. You can feel every bit of muscle give underneath his razor claws, every neuron firing off in alarm, every bit of flesh falling away to the floor of your respiteblock.

 

And you're  _ laughing.  _ Laughing it all away, choking on the spurts of blood that leave through your nose and mouth every now and then. He really meant it when he said “slow”. Ages go by, and the cold air that sailed into your eye socket as made the area numb. Or maybe that's just you using consciousness. Ha, take that, maybe you  _ could  _ lose consciousness through your socket. That would prove him wrong. Show him a thing or two.

 

A sickening splurch splashed into the sounds of the room, and fresh pain rockets up and through your body. This time you  _ really  _ shriek, your vocal modulators might break from this, but you're oddly ok with that. The pain is all you can feel. Pain and laughter. 

 

You can feel something thunk and then you can feel your body again. He drops his hands completely away from your body. You flex your hands and then crumple below the window, not feeling up to doing much else. But you do feel a distinct lack of something. A distinct lack of limb.

 

You manage to sit yourself upright and you turn around. 

 

Your right leg is bent a bit from the awkward positioning against the window, but otherwise is fine. Your left leg, though, is only half there. Knee down, there is nothing. Only the stump of your bone, the bronze coloring of your muscles and the frayed ends of tendons and ligaments. On the floor you can actually  _ see _ the fragmented remains of your kneecap, along with a generous amount of blood. Shredded veins scatter the area. And a little more off, right in front of where Gamzee is standing, is the other half of your leg. It has an identical looking stump to your own.

 

You take in long, exhausted breaths as you stare at it.

 

Then you look up at Gamzee.

 

He is standing there, straight as a pole, hands at his side and eyes looking down at you. Your bronze blood stains one hand up to the wrist, while the other is gained almost up to his elbow. Little brown spots speckle his clothing, some got on his sign to mix with that ugly purple indigo. But where you're most drawn to, of course, is his face. His eyes drill holes through you like always. You notice now, a little charm around his neck like a choker, hardly noticeable before but now that it was glowing a bright purple, you did. His black face paint is still perfect on his face, straight lines going down his cheeks and painting his lips and eyes dark.

 

“Brown looks good on you,” you wheeze.

 

Gamzee squints. “You're insane,” he sighs, “an insane and sorry excuse of a highblood if I've ever seen one.”

 

You laugh at him and collect a glob of blood in your mouth. You aim for his leather boots and spit.

 

You have perfect aim.

 

“Such a barbarian,” is his response.

 

He picks up your detached calf along with a little orange ball on the ground that you're assuming is your fourfold eye.

 

“Trophies?” You ask, voice coming out weaker than before.

 

“Proof,” he says. Something in his tone intrigues you. Though your vision is starting to blur from the pain and blood loss, you can see his eyes flicker down to the ground as he holds the body parts he’s taken from you in each of his hands. “I was told to kill you, you know.”

 

“Told?”

 

“Enthusiastically encouraged,” he tilts his head up to the ceiling, “to kill you. But I won't do that.”

 

“Can't,” you correct him, “you can't do that.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re secretly a coward.”

 

He doesn't answer you.

 

You give him your laughter.

 

He leaves you then, your eye and half a leg in tow, each footstep evenly paced at seven seconds in between. They fade out eventually.

 

The last sounds you hear before the blood loss drags you into unconsciousness is the dripping of your blood mixing with the plip, plip, plip of the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A DISCLAIMER: My interpretation of this is that a non-direct force, an explosion, took off Vriska's eye and arm. For Oppositestuck, I wanted Taros to have a direct confrontation with someone where he lost his eye and leg. I thought Gamzee might be perfect fit for this, since they would hate each other to bits in Oppositestuck. 
> 
> Why would he go after Tav for Vriska though?
> 
> I dunno, next chapter maybe. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, feel free to leave critique and/or comments below!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringing
> 
> Ringing and it won't
> 
> Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy! So this might be a confusing part to it all, but I hope I at least write it semi-well? If any part is weird or not wrapped up all the way, tell me and it will be fixed as soon as possible. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please note that Equius is going to swear. A considerable bunch. So.

 

Your name is EQUIUS ZAHHAK, and you are very tired.

 

It had been a long day. You had been feeding Hoofdad all day, his hunger was insatiable lately. Always wanting this troll and that troll. You mean, you killed them all, no squabble about it, highblood, lowblood, whatever. But it was so  _ time consuming.  _ You had better things to do than trip trolls into the dark pit that housed your lusus. You could have been making more arrows for your crossbow, or seeing how many vines you could swing from in a row, or target practice, or bugging Nepeta (that was the most fun). Not constantly stuffing corpses into the waiting maw of your giant horse creature guardian thingy.

 

Oh, the price to pay for being important.

 

For now though, you'd think you'd go to sleep. You were supposed to go visit Vriska tomorrow, which would be an ordeal. She hardly lived a few trees down, but your hives weren’t exactly ground level. Vriska’s was built a bit higher up than yours. You both lived in the jungle, where basically everything was out to eat you, so hives had to be built up high to protect the trolls living in them. You would move out of the jungle yourself to avoid that whole mess, but then where would the fun be? It was Vriska that had more of the threat. She wasn't exactly the strongest troll ever.

 

You weren't either, but you were a  _ hell  _ of a lot more comfortable with that than she was.

 

But that was ok. It was Vriska. You guys had been friends for a long time, neighbors for just as long. You'd helped each other out whenever you could. You had promised her you'd come over to hang out with her. Least you could do. Eridan and Feferi and Terezi were practically suffocating her after the incident, and seriously, the girl needed some air. You didn't treat her differently than before. She was still Vriska to you. So you'd be going there tomorrow.

 

You go into your respiteblock. It's, of course, bright as hell. You keep a million lights around. Attracts the desperate trolls that get lost in the middle of the lethally cold night. 

 

You like to kill them en masse so there is less to do for your lusus the next morning. 

 

You hear a ping come from your husktop. You rarely get night messages, so you're a bit curious. Who's trolling you today?

 

AC: ugh you're taking forever to respond.

AC: did you finally give up on any and all communication with the knowledgeable world?

AC: thought the day would never come.

 

Oh. It's this kitten.

 

Let's get this out there now, you hated Nepeta. Not in the spades kind of way, in the platonic “I actually hope you die” kind of way. She was a pain in your ass and a menace to everyone. Even Vriska, who admittedly has the think pan size of a nut creature, knows how much of a bad influence and a bad person she is. Anyone who agrees to a scheme hatched by Karkat Vantas has to be rotten cluckfowl. You doubted his lusus need that many lusii corpses on a regular basis. 

 

You spend a few minutes relishing in Nepeta's progressively more annoyed messages before she logs off in a huff. You send her some new nicknames you thought up for her before promptly blocking her.

 

Success.

 

You realize that Tavros isn't online. Hm. You knew Tav as one of those trolls that stalked Trollian until people came on to be victims to his nagging. Did he fall asleep at his computer or something?

 

Ha. Loser. 

 

You log off of Trollian and shuck of your shirt before slipping into your recuperacoon for the night. You drag your crossbow from your specibus, aim for the light switch, and shoot.

 

Your aim is perfect.

 

The block is drenched in darkness. You return your crossbow to the specibus and sink into the sopor slime. How does Gamzee not sleep in this stuff, it's literally the f-ing bomb. It's one of your last thoughts before you drift off into a relaxing sleep.

 

You do not drift for long.

 

~

 

_ Ringing _

 

_ Ringing and it won't _

 

_ Stop _

 

_ It's everywhere _

 

_ Ringing ringing ringing _

 

_ What is it _

 

_ Where _

 

_ So cold _

 

_ So very cold _

 

_ It's still going ringing ringing ringing _

 

_ Freezing _

 

_ I'm going to  _

 

_ Ringing _

 

_ It's ringing and ringing  _

 

_ Ringingringingringing _ **_ringingringingRINGING_ **

 

~

 

You wake up to Vriska curled up next to you.

 

Her little frame is huddled just a few inches away from you, respectful of your boundaries as she always is. She has a little smile on her lips, and every now and then her nose twitches. It's a side effect of wearing her glasses all the time, she keeps on trying to move them up on her face without using her hands. She did that even before the incident, when she still could move said hands. 

 

You, like the adoring friend you are, poke her in between her visual orbs.

 

“Hey,” you hiss, “hey, wake the fuck up.”

 

She stirs, and then her eyes flutter open. She stares at you from behind her glasses. Just stares. Her smile is gone. 

 

Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out.

 

“Vriska?” You say, “Vriska, this isn't a freaking mime show, speak up.”

 

She says something else, but you don't hear a thing.

 

_ Ringing _

 

“I get it, you can lip sync.”

 

_ Ringing _

 

“What are you saying? Spit it out, Jegus!”

 

**_R i n g i n g_ **

 

“… I can't hear you, Vris.”

 

Panic has seized your airway pipe by now, and it's an unfamiliar feeling to you. You never get frazzled by most of anything. You aren't the uptight one. You don't have a stick up in your bodily orifices all the time like some of the trolls you know (Feferi). But you're getting worried now. Can't help it. Vriska’s lips keep moving and you're hearing nothing.

 

You are silent as you watch her eyes water up and she turns away from you. You see her lips moving, repeating the same movements over and over. You still don't hear anything.

 

Eridan rushes into the room.

 

He usually looks disheveled. It's kind of the Ampora look. You tease him endlessly about it, you say, “going for the ‘messily single,’ huh?” And he'll laugh because he insists he’s “unquadrantable” in the concupiscent sense. He’s so dense sometimes. 

 

But right now he looks more disheveled than usual. There are bags under his eyes that usually aren't that deep of noticeable. He doesn't falter however, no sir. He walks in with the same flawless posture and figure he always does, hands down straight as his sides today. His smile never leaves his face as he comes around to you.

 

You think he should be a prince, not Karkat.

 

Eridan says something slowly to you, but you still can't  _ gddamn hear whatever he's saying. _ Now it's just frustrating. You want to punch and kick and scream and throw things across the room. 

 

Of course, you can’t throw things across the room, much less even pick them up. You’re too weak for that. And if you punched or kicked anything, you’d probably break your own bones in the process because your body thinks you have to be made of glass or something. 

 

But you can damn well scream. So you do. 

 

You scream and its terrifying to not hear your own voice. It’s all a murky, wavery, soundless void, and its annoying and scary all at once. You want to rip things, shred them, do something with your hands. So you do what you can and clutch at your horn, and the half of one that a carpentry drone broke when you badmouthed it that one time. And you scream and scream and scream because  _ ha, you can’t hear anything, what would it matter? _

 

There are hands on your face. 

 

Your eyes snap open. You’re met with the hard, ever staring eyes of Feferi Peixes, clutching the sides of your face while biting her lip in concern. You see Terezi behind her, Vriska hovering over her shoulder. Eridan is out of your sight, but you’re assuming he’s behind you. Feferi just stares at you, and its kind of getting creepy. Seadwellers don’t need to blink that much because of their stupid second set of invisible eyelids that all fish seem to have, so she’s unblinking at you too. 

 

She says something to, but what do you know, you can’t hear it. You squint at her and stick out your tongue and shake your head. Your voice feels scratchy in your airway pipe. “No idea what you’re saying, fish for pans.”

 

She squints, but then Eridan comes around from behind you (you were right) and gives her a piece of paper and a sparkly glitter writing inkstick.

 

You quirk and eyebrow. 

 

Eridan smiles and his shoulders shake a little as he giggles. 

 

Feferi madly scribbles something down, and then shows you the pad of paper. 

 

In her impossibly messy handwriting, you read,  _ What do you mean, you can’t hear? _

 

“I can’t hear you, or anything for that matter,” you squint, “Damn, I don’t know how much more direct I can be.”

 

She squints, but you see Eridan ask her something. You watch her nod and blush a bit before writing something else down. 

 

Seriously, how did he not know?

 

You read again,  _ Is there a pressure on your audible clots? _

 

Pressure? Well, you definitely felt a weird sense of heaviness on either side of your head that you aren’t used to. So yeah, basically. You nod. 

 

She looks at Eridan, who says something else. In the corner of your vision, you see Vriska say something into Terezi’s ear, and she nods her head no. 

 

It was driving you crazy, not hearing what they were saying. If you aren’t able to hear things soon, you were going to smack a barkbeast. 

 

Feferi writes,  _ Can you feel your audible clots? _

 

“No,” you answer truthfully. 

 

Eridan speaks, Feferi scribbles while getting progressively more purple in the face. The vicious cycle continues. 

 

_ Are you hungry or thirsty? _

 

“No.”

 

_ Does your stomach hurt? _

 

“A little.”

 

_ Do you taste blood? _

 

“A bit.”

 

_ Are you cold or hot? _

 

You smirk and flash her a grin. “Hot as hell.”

 

She gives you what you assume is an exasperated sigh and whack you upside your head. You yelp, but it was totally worth it. 

 

_ Not like that, bulgelicker, I meant your body temp,  _ she writes. 

 

You roll your eyes. “Cold, but c’mon, I’m a blueblood, what would you expect?”

 

She looks expectantly at Eridan, who is doing the signature “I’m in deep thought so I’m gonna look down at the floor” show he did. After a minute or two, he looked up, said something to Fef, and raced off and out of the room. 

 

Feferi scrawled something down much slower now, and showed it to you.  _ He wants to look at your audible clots. It’s gonna be cold, just so you know. Everything he owns is steel, so.  _

 

“Except him himself,” you wiggle your eyebrows at her, “because he’s hot.”

 

You see Vriska’s face scrunch up and her shoulders bounce with what you think is laughter. Too bad you can’t hear if she really is or not. 

 

Eridan eventually comes back and Fef was right, the instruments he uses are really cold against your skin. But at least he’s quick about it. Just pokes a stick in, holds it for a few minutes, looks into it, then takes it out. He repeats it a few times with one ear, adjusting this little knob in the end of it every time. He then repeated the process on your other audible clot. 

 

He’s slow in telling Feferi something, and you watch his lips move slowly and steadily. You see Vriska’s eyes widen from behind her glass, Terezi’s lips purse together. She looks like she’s wearing less lipstick when she does that. Feferi’s eyes widen and her bottom lip sticks out a bit, like a fish’s mouth gaping open for water. She then twitches, slowly looks down at the paper and inkstick. She picks it up, and starts to slowly write something down. 

 

She shows it to you. 

 

_ We don’t think your audible clots work anymore.  _

 

_ You’re  probably deaf.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuuuuuh.
> 
> Feel free to critique or comment!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you all have a great day!! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jegus, someone’s greedy today,” You roll your eyes, “You don’t get credit for everything bad that happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy! Thank you so much for reading.

**I’m sorry.**

 

“Eh,” you say, unfazed by his sudden appearance in your head. “You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

 

**I did, though. I truly did.**

 

“Jegus, someone’s greedy today,” You roll your eyes, “You don’t get credit for everything bad that happens.”

 

It had been a day since you officially found out you were deaf. Feferi had basically tied you down to the healer’s platform you had been on and forced you to stay until Eridan deemed you ready to go on your own. After a few more things got poked into your ears, the seadweller boy had concluded there was nothing that could really be done. Your audible clots had frozen from the inside out, he wrote down for you in his swoopy almost illegible handwriting. You’d gone out into the night somehow, and the cold had basically frozen your ears off. It was irreversible. Luckily, not a cullable offense, you could still operate. 

 

You were adapting quickly to having to decipher what your friends were saying.. You were even catching some things they said by reading their lips. You caught Terezi say, “He’s not gonna die,” to a trembling Vriska. 

 

You left as soon as you could, needing air. Was that how Vriska felt, to be watched and pampered and coddled all the time? It really was suffocating. Now you were out in your familiar neck of the woods, or should you say jungle, walking in a random direction. And found this guy had wormed a spell into your head.

 

You were wondering where this guy was in all the commotion. 

 

“Seriously, dude, quit it,” you say, “We’re trolls on Alternia, the entire damn world is out to get us, literally. This is all a hellscape. I’m actually one of the fucking lucky ones. And how did you--”

 

**I provoked him.**

 

What?

 

You stop. The buzzing in your head, one of the only things you could actually hear now, was still there. That meant his voodoos were still implanted in your pan. 

 

“Provoked who?” You question. 

 

**Who do you think?** , his voice echoes in the recesses of your mind,  **Who else would be able to successfully maneuver you into the dead cold of the night like that?**

 

“I…” You don’t know what to say. 

 

**Exactly. There is no one else who would.** A pause.  **And I know that it was because of me.**

 

You feel betrayal seeping into your pusher, but you quickly nudge that aside. You need to hear what Gamzee has to say, especially if this is really who you think it is. “What the hell set him off? And why would he--”

 

**Because he’s a cruel, sadistic freak. And he knows be very well. He knows that going after me myself would not hurt me as much as someone close to me.**

 

Usually, you’d make a remark here. Something like, “didn’t know we were close, how close are we, hm~?” But with Gamzee, you know better. 

 

“What did you do?”

 

**Do you really want to know?**

 

“Yeah?”

 

**Do you remember when I asked you which limbs were easiest to amputate and or get rid of, and you gave me a demonstration with that creepy corpse you got?**

 

“Yeah, wh-- oh my freaking, no you didn’t.”

 

**I suppose I took a bad page from Kat’s book. I wasn't thinking. I was so mad about Vriska. It's bad enough to cull someone, but it's just plain horrendous to sentence them to a lifetime of hardships like this. To paralyze someone who has claimed to be your friend? I mean, seriously.**

 

“So you took… the eye and leg, right…?” You remember, showing him how to make sure someone lived through it long enough for you to have some fun with their death. “Holy shit….”

 

**I know. I know** . The voodoo voice turned into a whisper.  **And I should have known he wouldn't go after me. I should have known.**

 

You don't answer. You kick one of your sneakers into the dirt. 

 

**I'm so sorry, Equius.**

 

You don't reply.

 

**I shouldn't have let my rage get the better of me.**

 

You laugh.

 

You laugh into the jungle.

 

“Why are you sorry?” You ask him aloud, “are you kidding?”

 

**What?**

 

“All it took was for Tav to paralyze a person? That is what it took to make you  _ angry?” _

 

You feel a prickle of voodoo energy in the back if your head.

 

**That isn't funny.**

 

“Oh hell yeah it is,” you manage, “it's like, not even that bad, on Alternian standards, and you lose it over  _ that?” _

 

You can't help but fall to the jungle floor, it's so funny. “Ah, dude I can't….”

 

**What about this situation is even remotely hysterical.**

 

“That Gamzee Makara isn't as calm as he always fucking seems, is what!” You pound the ground with one fist, not even leaving an indent but you don't care. “I'm dead, leave me to freeze over in the night.”

 

This time it's Gamzee that doesn't respond. He leaves you to laugh.

 

Once you've caught your breath, you speak. “Oh, that was precious.”

 

**I'm glad I amused you?**

 

“Sure did, dude. Sure did.”

 

Silence.

 

“I don't blame you, Gam. Honestly you did the right thing. Asshole had it coming.”

 

**I didn't-**

 

“I'm not your moirail,” you say, “but like, shoosh. I don't care. In fact,” you grin, “I'm gonna spite him and get a handle on this deaf shit so well, Nitram won't have a damn thing on me.”

 

Gamzee is quiet before his voice resounds in your head.  **I will never understand you. But I admire your steadfast determination.**

 

“Glad I at least remain a mystery to some,” you chuckle. “I'm gonna skid. You good?”

 

**If I have tried to at least apologize, and my apology is at least heard, then yes, we are “good”.**

 

You laugh again. “Oh, you are such a ️sorry case. Yeah, we’re chill. Kinda wish I could have cashed in on ripping Nitram one. You're right, pushing people off cliffs isn't cool. Glad you did something about it.”

 

**Thank you. I sincerely appreciate that.**

 

“Maybe he’ll finally act on all that pitch crush shit he’s got going for you.”

 

**Excuse me?**

 

You laugh and leave far enough that his voodoos die out in your pan.

 

~

 

AT: wHY ARE YOU ASKING ABOUT THE TIME YOU WENT DEAF?

CT: D→ Curious

CT: D→ Are about to go to bed

AT: mAYBE

CT: D→ K

 

antagonisticTerror has stopped pestering criticalTempest!

 

CT: D→ See you on Prospit motherfucker

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That final line about Prospit is in reference to the part of the original Make Her Pay, where at the end Dream Terezi slaps Vriska? I wanted to make sure that at least got in there, ha. 
> 
> WHEW okay well there is Make Him Pay. I hope I did it at least partial justice? Maybe??   
> For what I have planned with this series. I am planning on one more thing (a fluffy thing, yay~) before finally hitting the big hullabaloo, which is the Meteor and everything that goes down there. If you would like to see something before that, you can totally request something, I'm always open. 
> 
> Feel free to critique or comment!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, have a great day!!


End file.
